Looking For A Spark
by October Orange Skies
Summary: AmeCan. One-shot. 4,460 words. When Alfred visits Matthew the afternoon before Halloween, he brings with him Arthur Kirkland's (stolen) magical diary. His attempts to perform magic have unforeseen consequences that they must barrel through to bring their lives back to normal. Exchange gift for lilyofazra. Image by mericafe.


"Did he fucking order pizza? How long has he been here?"

When Matthew pulled his faded crimson truck into his driveway, Alfred was sprawled sloppily on his porch, staring mindlessly at the cracked screen of his Nintendo DS with several boxes of Domino's stacked beside him. Before the driver door had even popped open, Alfred was eagerly bouncing at the window, greeting his beloved Canadian brother with an overwhelming enthusiasm better fit for someone meeting their favourite band. The evening would be an agonizingly elongated one.

At the very least, Alfred was quite the help in carrying his work bags into the house.

"How long were you waiting?" Matthew questioned, shooting a friendly smile.

"Uh, like, an hour."

"Oh, sorry!"

Patting Matthew's back, Alfred grinned widely, reassuring, "Nah, bro, it's no problem. I wanted to get here early so I could see you as soon as possible! Plus I gotta fly back so I can be back in the states by tomorrow afternoon for the big Halloween bash! I'm so excited, I can barely even wait."

It was the lovely time of year in which the air was crisp and leaves scattered the ground like a shredded blanket. Some hated it, for it was a sign for the coming of coats, snow, and otherwise rather uncomfortable weather. Alfred, however, found October in particular an incredibly hype-worthy month. He overly enjoyed the magic of scares and spooks like a young child. To this day he traveled door to door every Halloween night, stashing horrifically sugared candy as he pranced around in a ridiculous costume of one of his typical all-American superheroes.

Matthew found peace in autumn. Being better adjusted to the bitterness of winter, he relished the stillness of it all as summer's burning fury came to a gentle close. Halloween wasn't his favourite holiday, unlike Alfred, but he always enjoyed the wide toothy grins of the children which waddled to his door, enthusiastically begging for sweets while their parents stood cross-armed at the sidewalk. There was a certain sweet innocence to the holiday, but it still retained an adult aspect with the significance of horror. He thoroughly enjoyed this.

Said holiday happened to be tomorrow, which was precisely why Alfred had gone to visit Matthew. The younger brother wasn't too interested in attending Alfred's annual Halloween bashes, but he was more than willing to host Alfred for a little while so long as it was only the two of them.

Taking Alfred's russet bomber jacket, Matthew slipped it onto a wall hook and made his way into the kitchen, where Alfred was already dishing out his pizza. He didn't bother removing the strands of greasy cheese which clung onto its sides as well place it atop his paper plate before he began taking massive bites.

"You eat like you haven't had food in days," Matthew stoically chuckled as he swiftly snatched his own slice as well as one for Kumajiro (who was passed out on the couch), rushing out of puerile worry his brother might retrieve it first.

The response that came was muffled, the other lacking the decency to wait until he was finished chewing to speak. Matthew could almost hear Arthur's voice chastising him for such rudeness. Swallowing at last, he finished his incoherent rant with "so I came right over to show you!"

Eyebrows furrowing in slight perplexion, he replied, "Show me what?"

"This!" Alfred cried, skipping to his jacket to reveal from an inside pocket a small chestnut brown leather notebook, wrinkled from age (and undoubtedly from getting spilled on, too). Unconsciously flipping through the pages, he handed it to a mildly reluctant Matthew, who took it out of curiosity. Every sheet was engraved in sloppy inked cursive, a distinct and nearly unreadable handwriting that could only belong to that of Arthur Kirkland.

Snapping the book shut, Matthew angrily glared at Alfred and hissed, "Did you steal this?"

His terrible suspicions were confirmed by Alfred's silence and brief wink.

"Give this back to him, please. Or at least just take it back! I'm not really interested in reading his diary, okay?"

"But it's not his diary, dude!"

"I don't really care about –"

Matthew's protestations were cut short by the other leaning lethally close to his face, a dangerous spark of thrill in his brilliant teal eyes. "It's a spell book and log, Mattie! And according to it," he moved to flip to a certain page, which ended up taking an awkward amount of time, but once he reached it, he pointed excitedly and continued, "We have magic!"

"Wait, really? It says that?" Moving beside Alfred to take a second glance at the notebook, he wondered, "How can you even read what that says?"

Beaming, he replied, "I grew up with England! I know all about cursive and calligraphy, especially how to read it!" He pointed with his finger at a certain line, pressing against Matthew's shoulders so the other could view the writing as well. "See, it says here, 'I believe that someday, the boys will rediscover their magic abilities.' We're the boys! 'Cause he was talking about us!"

"Oh, that's all? I though you didn't believe in that stuff. And I don't really think..." He trailed off with the realization that Alfred was hardly paying attention, too entranced by the notion of having magic to listen to anything but his mind's own exhilarated comments on the idea. "Well…"

"Hmm?" He mumbled, his head snapping up as if waking up from slumber.

"Do you want to try?"

Alfred seemed to nearly explode, nodding like mad and hopping on his heels to release the excess energy he'd built up with excitement. "Yes, yes, yes!"

Let it be known that Matthew had no confidence in Arthur's spells having any effect. He simply didn't believe in magic. When he was first taken in by Arthur, he could recall him attempting to show the young boy he had taken from Francis all his magical spells. By that point in time, however, Matthew could no longer see the creatures he could as a baby, and Arthur's miserable failures to achieve any sort of spell (at least in front of him) proved little of magic's existence.

This venture was for Alfred's sake. His brother was typically cheery, but thrill of this sort wasn't as much of a constant. He had to admit that he enjoyed seeing Alfred so joyous. Even if this meant he'd have to suffer through Alfred's eventual disappointment at their imminent lack of 'magic', he'd rather his brother discover the truth than ruin his fun by refusing to do this with him.

Besides, it was almost Halloween. A little pretending couldn't hurt.

Within minutes, Chemical Romance's "Na Na Na" was blasting on the speakers and Alfred was dancing around as he set up a small fort for them to lay in. He certainly didn't seem concerned with safety.

Tossing the book into the cushions, Alfred enquired, "What should we do first? Do you wanna try levitation? Like, where you float?"

Snickering, Matthew teased, "I know what levitation is! Just make sure you don't send either one of us soaring to the sky, eh?"

"Heh, I'll try. But if this works, I'm totes gonna try and fly like Superman!" His arms swung aimlessly into the air in large gestures, receiving a sarcastic appearing eye-roll from the other. "Alright, let's see, it says here that to levitate, you have to close your eyes and concentrate real hard. Then you have to imagine yourself floating. Seems simple enough! Lemme try then! Tell me if it works!"

"Okay, I will."

It was difficult for Matthew not to burst out in fits of ugly laughter at the other's current position. Even a now awoken Kumajiro seemed amused. He looked absolutely absurd, eyes squeezed tightly shut and his face scrunched in the best concentration he could muster. It was brutally contrasted by the booming of speakers in the background. "Is it working?"

"Nope. Maybe you should try something else."

Opening his eyes, he cried, "Oh, maybe it's like in video games and have to level up to do certain stuff! Yeah, I'll try something else."

For a long while, Matthew humored him, occasionally pulling out his phone to satisfy his boredom while Alfred cried incantations and uselessly meditated in hope of achieving some sort of spark. Even the album ran dry of songs. Eventually, the younger brother had to use the restroom, and that was when the earsplitting screaming began.

Instant panic settling in, he swung open the door in moments, his hands drenched in frothy white soap. Alfred, however, was not in extreme agony as Matthew had originally thought, but instead hopping about in crazed celebration, punching at the sky.

"I did it! I did it Mattie! Look, I made fire!" He shrieked, pointing eagerly to the candle treacherously close to his foot. Sure enough, a small auburn flame flickered cautiously amidst the milky beige wax.

"Alfred F. Jones, do you have any idea how scared I was?" Matthew wailed, clasping his fists at his sides. "That wasn't funny! I thought you got hurt! And how stupid do you really think I am? I know that you just lit it while I…" The puppy eyes that followed which made Alfred look ten seconds from sobbing broke Matthew in, and he drew an annoyed sigh, rubbing his warm neck in frustration. "Look, just don't do that, okay?"

Sluggishly nodding, the other apologized, "Alright, maybe I lit it myself, and maybe I was a little too loud. I'm sorry. We good?" He moved for a high-five.

"I still haven't washed my hands," Matthew huffed, ignoring the one in front of him. This action instantly earned him back Alfred's dreaded puppy eyes – to which he high-fived him back and groaned, "Fine."

One could most likely imagine the sense of chaos immediately felt by the blonde Canadian as he attempted to turn on the sink and his hand passed directly through it. Simultaneously, Alfred collapsed back onto the cushion fort he had constructed – only to land abruptly on the surprisingly firm carpet, feeling the angry pound of the impact from his rear to his head.

The moment any sort of awareness as to what was happening had crossed their minds, they were confusedly grasping at each other in distress in the hallway, losing their balance and collapsing unceremoniously into Matthew's bedroom (through the wall, to add). Both shrieked in panic, trying copiously to understand the circumstances of such a supernatural event.

Gazing intensely into one another's wide, frantic eyes, they hissed, "Magic!"

Matthew nearly lashed out verbally upon Alfred, pressing the blame on him for dancing with such a toxic woman as black magic. Perhaps it was the adrenaline rushing through his veins, his sheer and utter confusion, or something more and unknown which kept him from doing so. All he knew was that he and Alfred were acting as one, sprinting clumsily into the living room in search of the journal. Kumajiro awaited them, or so it seemed, as he sauntered about rubbing his head, eyes glazing directly over the two baffled countries in front of him.

"Kumacheerio?" Whispered a terrified Canadian, silently praying that his closest friend could, in fact, still see him. The mere thought that he could not sent small shivers down his spine. As his answer – or rather lack of – arrived, he hastily straightened his posture, spiraling to face his brother. "We have to get things back to normal. Now."

"I know, dude. Let's just, uh," Alfred's voice trembled anxiously with every syllable. "Find that book thing, okay? I'm sure England wrote some way for us to get out of this…"

"Yeah," Matthew muttered under his breath, paralyzed as Kumajiro passed directly through him.

"My ass hurts and your bear can walk through us. This sucks."

"Oh thank God, we can touch it," Matthew sighed contently only minutes later as the other revealed the magical notebook, which had snugged itself literally inside a dense, downy pillow.

Without the ability to snuggle comfortably, they instead huddled sitting criss-cross beside the flickering candle. Alfred flipped page to page, reading its contents aloud, while Matthew never bothered to comment in favour of watching Kumajiro stroll about the house in fraught and puzzled search for him. Both grew increasingly worried about whether or not a fix was possible. Eventually, Alfred set the book aside and wondered somberly, "How do you think this happened?"

"Hmm? I don't know. What was the last thing we did?"

"It was when I pretended to light the candle. Dammit, Matthew, I bet that fire did something. Lemme go to the fire incantation thingy section and see if I can find anything…"

"Best of luck."

Honestly, Matthew wished there was more he could do as he wandered the house helplessly, the night growing dark with no lights on. He merely eavesdropped upon Alfred crying incantations such as, "Incendio!" and "Aquamento! Aquamenti! However you say it." Obvious from the shouts of frustration, nothing was working.

What if he was simply dreaming? It could, in fact, be possible. Dreams were mysterious in their sense of cluelessness. Nothing should seem amiss. Thus, however, that could not be correct. Everything was amiss. This passing through solid objects was not a meager ability given to him during the lull of slumber. The shaking of his hands proved he truly was awake, but he still found himself blinking as coarsely as possible, muscles excruciatingly tensed and fingernails digging into his clenched fist.

"We aren't dreaming. I already tried that." Alfred groaned by the doorstep of the bedroom Matthew had resided himself in.

"Worth a try, I guess." Sighing, the other relaxed at last, eyes blurred with strain.

"Hey, Matthew?"

"Hmm?"

"I think it was when, you know, I sorta touched you."

"When you what?"

"Calm down, not like that, you perv! When we high fived. 'Cause when I lit the fire, the lighter didn't fall out of my hand, but I can't touch it now."

"Oh." Such an idea sounded reasonable. Somewhat, anyway. It didn't make sense at all, but it coincided perfectly with the current arrangement of events. "So, what does that mean?"

Alfred rolled his eyes. "Let me take your hand, dude! Duh!"

Before Matthew could speak, his hand was clenched in between Alfred's dry palms. He had little words to offer, however, as Alfred yelled a seemingly meaningless chant – and it worked. A sparkling, silvery stream of surreal water danced right before their eyes, reflecting in each with the same allure the northern lights may hold. For an instant, both were so enticed by the scene they let go of one another, only to have the water fall to the floor in a soggy heap above the carpet before vanishing entirely.

"Ah, man." Alfred whined, kicking uselessly at the ground.

"Take my hand, Alfred," suggested Matthew. "We can try again."

This time, Alfred attempted the fire spell, which they were much more careful with, as the incinerating heat kept them overly focused as compared to before. It illuminated their faces ominously, one might even say spookily, and with his pent up energy from the former adrenaline rush of shock, Alfred laughed mercilessly until he had to mutter the water spell between gasps to extinguish it and collapsed onto the ground, clutching his stomach. Matthew found none of it amusing in the slightest.

"But," pant, "it just looks," pant, "so halloweeny."

"We're stuck in an alternate dimension. Shut up."

Quickly did Alfred's high die off, and they were back to standing, hands entwined, while Alfred attempted to conjure every spell he could recall. The issue came in the darkness which now overtook all the rooms. It was impossible to read. Everything Alfred happened to remember had to do with the creation or destruction of fire and water, and there was absolutely nothing which they could do with it except allow it to plummet and ruin the carpet. Hope of escape from their inter-dimensional prison vanished with each passing moment.

"We can try again when it's day," Alfred suggested, cheerful face fallen to a solemn frown.

"I suppose…I mean, it's not like we're going to get out of here anyways, right? We somehow did this by accident and I really doubt that stupid book is going to tell us crap about how to fix it."

The other appeared disappointed as he gazed down at their tangled fingers. "Giving up already, huh? I see how it is."

"Oh, do you? Do you really see how it is? You need to be taking this more seriously."

"How have I not been taking this seriously? I've been taking this just as seriously as you!"

I'm worried about Kuma, Matthew wanted to admit. Who's going to remind him to drink some water before bed, because the food I have to give him doesn't have enough? What if he dehydrates? What if he's scared all night and I can't do anything but watch? And what about me? What if I never…

"I'm sick of it all, Alfred."

"Sick of what?" He questioned. "You can't be talking about right now, right? We've only been stuck for, like, an hour. Not like anything else is wrong."

"What do you mean?"

Sighing, Alfred responded, "What is the matter, Mattie?"

"What the hell do you think? No one has ever been able to see me, Alfred! I'm always ignored, and talked over," he gestured with his fingers, slamming them roughly onto his palms with every new point. "And mistaken for you! And now the one friend who has stuck with me through thick and thin will never be able to see me again! No one will ever see me again. Every dream that I ever had of being recognized has been thrown in the trash! I'm so sick of it! I want to tell them how much I hate it! I want to show them just how much it hurts me! I just want to scream!" Voice dropping considerably low, he muttered, "I just want Kumako back."

It had been many years since he last witnessed his younger brother snap like so. To be honest, with the high amounts of social anxiety and self-esteem issues Matthew held, he was shocked it did not happen more often. Arthur nor Francis had ever seen such an occurrence. It was a nature unheard of for the passive, sweet, and inaudible Canadian.

Alfred, on the other hand, knew his brother inside and out, all of the decentness and depravity locked within. Only to him would he show his weaknesses and darker sides, and although many times he backed out due to unintended intimidation from the American, he had not always.

Silently cursing himself, Alfred shot his eyes piercingly into those of Matthew's, and gripped his shoulders with a sense of malice but not so much as to bruise him. "You are wrong," he chided firmly, softening his tone when the other unconsciously shrunk back. "You are wrong, Matthew. Sure, maybe Cuba or Russia or whoever don't always know who you are, but you have more than just Kumajiro. And no, it's not France, and it's not England; this person loves you so much and would never mistake you for anyone else. He thinks you are the most handsome, talented, and funny nation of all. He truly thinks the world of you. And this person is standing right in front of you. Matthew, look at me again. Please." Removing his hands from the other's shoulders, Alfred caressed Matthew's right cheek. "You are not as alone as you think you are."

"You are such…" Falling to his knees, he buried himself in shame at his sudden weeping. "Such a…such a sap! I can't believe…I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry I did that to you. I'm so sorry."

Taking Matthew in his arms like a small child, Alfred shushed him softly, rocking him slowly while his chest heaved against him in choked wails. "We are going to go back. I'm the hero, okay? Heroes don't give up. Hush, hush, it's alright."

Several minutes passed before Matthew's cries turned to sniffles, and he sat upwards, wiping his sleeve against his bitterly chilly nose. "You're the hero, eh?" He hiccupped. "And just how many times have I saved your ass, Alfred F. Jones?"

"Pfft, as if."

The pair chuckled softly as Matthew's hiccups shattered the ensuing silence. He was horribly embarrassed for his outburst, and it took quite a bit of time for him to calm his thoughts down enough to think clearly. Though the other attempted the best he could to keep quiet, he found he couldn't, and bounced on his heels for a while before mumbling, "You wanna try something?"

"Try what? Not really much to try until the morning, is there?"

"Incendio!" Alfred yelled, causing the other to jump slightly as a band of fire created a miniature wall in between their eyes. Securely clasping Matthew's hand with one, he used his other hand to pull the small notebook from his pocket, using the auburn light to continue reading deeper into Arthur's bountiful notes.

"Wait, find the part where he talked about our magic."

"Eh, it'll be no use. I read that whole section and there's nothing about this happening."  
>Shaking his head, Matthew countered, "No, stop looking for a fix to only this. Look for anything about us and how we use our magic."<p>

Pausing to recall from his memory, Alfred gazed upwards then stated, "I guess it did have something like that, but I didn't really understand it…"

"What?"

Turning to the page in mind, Alfred explained, "Well, it said something about us thinking and acting as, like, one mind. Which doesn't even make sense, because we're two minds."

Using his free arm, Matthew reached under the floating flames to take Alfred's wrist. He blinked in confusion, but Matthew assured, "Just trust me. Focus really hard on making this flame disappear. And don't let go of my hand."

"Yeah," Alfred muttered, nodding and closing his eyes after Matthew. His imagination conjured the best image it could of the fire dissipating into a smoky ball before him. "Can I, uh, open my eyes now?"

"Just a sec," mumbled Matthew, eyes squeezed firmly closed. "Alright, now."

The fire was gone.

"Yes! Yes! Yes! Mattie, do you realize what this means?" Alfred's brother didn't have a chance to react to the flame's disappearance before he was being practically pounced upon.

A smirk, however, did cross his face, even as he tried to push his incredibly hyper brother away. "Yeah, I do."

"It means we have magic! And we can control it! That's so cool!"

A sudden quietness overtook as the pair realized what they had the potential of doing. No words needed to be spoken aloud, for their rapid glances spoke everything that was necessary. Matthew was petrified and breathing heavily, his fingers trembling with every movement. _We can't fail. We can always keep trying…but we can't be stuck here forever. Please! Let us go back! Reverse this cursed magic, and let it never imprison us again. Please, let me see my best friend again._

Alfred, on the other hand, shifted awkwardly, visualizing his hands running along the walls, sitting in chairs, and speaking with other nations. He absolutely did not want to stay in this boring world. Sure, the ability to not be hindered by something as meager as a bookshelf might come in handy, but it was not and would never be worth the consequences.

However they trapped themselves didn't matter. They could confront England about it later. What was so terribly vital right now was their prison break. Perhaps this was why opening their eyes was so terrifying.

Nothing appeared to have changed from first glance, but the true test was to place their hands upon something, which they both knew all too well. Alfred reached for the dresser behind him first, his brother gulping nervously and ushering him forward. He tentatively placed his palm directly above the smooth surface.

Chest heaving at the silence, Matthew frowned and questioned, "No good?"

"Well," Alfred began, "Let me tell you right now that the top of a dresser has never felt so good."

"Oh my god." Matthew moved to stroke the dusty top. Ignoring the gray material which settled upon his fingertips, he threw himself into Alfred's arms. "Oh my god, oh my god! I didn't think…"

Grasping the Canadian tight as he could, Alfred gazed to the ceiling and shot an internal message of gratitude to the stars, insanely joyous to have returned.

"Kumajiro!" Matthew suddenly sobbed, lunging into the welcoming arms of his polar bear companion who stood befuddled at the doorway. Swinging his head around to view Alfred, he grinned like mad, glistening tears streaming from his eyes like a tranquil rocky mountain waterfall. "Thank you, Al."

Rubbing the back of his head nervously, he responded, "Ah, don't mention it. I didn't really do much. We did. You know…" He momentarily hesitated, cheeks flushing fuchsia from ear to ear. "You look pretty, uh, cute, when you, uh, smile like that."

"Oh, Alfred." He sang, rising to his feet.

Giggling like a gossiping school girl, Alfred chuckled, "I know, I know, like you said, I'm a sap."

Suddenly, Matthew hovered at his lips, his hot breath dancing across his skin. Alfred quivered at the warm contact. Pulling into a kiss at lightning speed, Matthew fixed his posture, forcing Alfred to position himself on his toes to reach his mouth. The kiss was sloppy. Tears rubbed across their faces as both shook with nerves. Neither gave this so much as a second thought, however, as what their minds conceived to be most vital right now was nothing more than their connection. Sparks seemed to clash and cloud their emotions like lightning, their pounding hearts the pattering of rain against windows. Just as his stunned brother began to force back his dominance, they leaned away panting. Rather flustered, Matthew mumbled, "I think I really, really like you."

Breathlessly, Alfred muttered back, "Yeah. I think I like you too. There's one thing I don't like, though."

"Hmm?" Matthew's eyebrows furrowed in concern.

"That book. Let's bring that back to England."

"'Let's'? Nah, bro, you have fun doing that. It was your idea to bring it over here, anyways."

Grinning mischievously, Alfred chuckled, "You know, kinda movie-like how our clothes didn't come off, isn't it?"

"Are you trying to suggest something, Al?"

"No, I mean, when we went to the other dimension! Come on, Mattie!"

In the most sarcastic tone the Canadian could muster, he finished, "I'm positive that's what you meant, Alfie."

The following kiss ceased any further comment.


End file.
